


Difference of Purpose

by briarglades



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Positive Reinforcement Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7351339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/briarglades/pseuds/briarglades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mesothulas tries to show Prowl a good time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Difference of Purpose

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to sxizzor for looking this over, and for being a companion in Prowl feelings hell.

Mesothulas gestures to the busiest corner of his laboratory. "And here's the development I suspect you'll be most interested in," he says, optics beaming proudly.

Prowl examines the indicated corner, seeing a cluttered collection of boxes, monitors, wires, and - incongruously - what appears to be an ordinary recharge slab.

"A recharge slab?" he questions dryly. "The Autobots are lacking for weapons technology, not beds."

"Oh?" Mesothulas saunters over to the slab and reclines on it. He cocks his head back at Prowl and smirks, petting the seat beside him and saying, "Prowl, dear. The 'invention' is what happens _on_ the bed. May I show you?"

Prowl heats up and crosses his arms defensively. "This is business, Mesothulas. Just tell me what your so-called interesting development is," he snaps.

Mesothulas chuckles and rolls off of the bed. Striking a pose, he pats one of the larger boxes next to the slab, dark and bristling with wires and cables from all sides. " _This_ is the next step forward in restraint technology: the positive reinforcement prison. It initiates a two-way interface that first finds its prisoners' greatest desire and then shows it to them, makes them think they've got it. It induces docility by crafting these personal fantasies - if they have everything they've ever wanted, they don't _want_ to fight free."

Prowl walks over, appraising the box cautiously. He nods slowly. "So it interferes with the mind directly?"

"Yes. It accesses the mind to a large degree, drawing on memories, goals, and emotions. The fantasy itself, however, is a simple hijacking of the senses.” Mesothulas pins Prowl with an uncomfortably close stare and says, slowly, "The experience is actually quite... pleasant. It can have a remarkable clarifying effect on one's goals."

Prowl scoffs. "Doesn't sound like much of a punishment."

Mesothulas rolls his eyes. "Aren't you the one always going on about knowing one's opponents? This device finds people's motivations; development in any direction - range, targeting, et cetera - would be incredibly useful as psychological weaponry."

Prowl pauses, considers. 

"Show me."

* * *

Prowl is strapped down to the slab he had been teasing Mesothulas about, arms at his sides. His head is braced to prevent him from turning or shaking it, and Mesothulas is attaching monitoring wires to his head and neck. He moves down, running a hand over Prowl's bumper and making him shiver, before securing what looks like an external spark monitor to his chest.

Prowl glances down at the multitude of wires and devices now attached to his body. "Can you hurry up with all these monitors?" he asks.

Mesothulas directs a superior look at Prowl and leans over to tap the center of his chevron. "The positive reinforcement prison interferes with the mind, not merely the body." Seriously, he continues, "I value your mind much too highly to leave it unmonitored."

"And you're sure it's safe," Prowl hums.

It's not really a question, but Mesothulas nods, settling his gaze onto Prowl's calm optics. "Very. I tested it myself, you know." 

Prowl meets Mesothulas’s gaze steadily. It’s interesting, he muses, to have such a brilliant mind so focused on oneself. Useful. Gratifying, even. After all, where would the Autobot war effort be without the two of them? Using Mesothulas’s skills had been the quickest, the best way to leverage a way up the ranks; doing so had allowed him to use his own talents for command to their needed extent. Not to mention his direct scientific contribution to the war effort - between the two of them, they were almost certainly responsible for the Autobot’s continued survival.

“Well then. I trust I’ll be fine.”

Mesothulas leans back from Prowl's intense gaze, shaking his head quickly. "Alright!" he says, carefully inserting the main cable into the port on Prowl's neck and turning the plugs to keep it secured. "Ready?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Well then. Enjoy."

* * *

_Prowl is gazing into the amber visor across from him when it suddenly flares online._

_“Prowl!” Tumbler gasps, and suddenly Prowl is the focus of all his attention, visor searching his eyes for some sort of confirmation that this is real._

_“Tumbler? I’m right here,” Prowl reassures._

_Tumbler reaches for Prowl’s hand, hesitating before making contact as if worried that his partner will disappear. Prowl grabs it and squeezes firmly._

_“I had the worst nightmare,” Tumbler says. “We were back on Cybertron… The war was only getting worse…” He shivers and lets go of Prowl’s hand, curling up on himself. “And you… the Decepticons got you and I had to watch and-”_

_“Shh.” Prowl reaches over to Tumbler’s shoulder. “I’m here. I’m fine. We got out, we’re safe, we’re together. What else matters?”_

_Tumbler sighs and looks back up into Prowl’s eyes. “Prowl, I don’t think I say it often enough, but I really do love you.”_

_Prowl smiles, slow and sweet. “I love you too.”_

* * *

And he wakes up.

Tumbler's warm orange visor fades, curious red optics replacing it to examine Prowl's face as it shifts, a shocked gape of loss taking the place of a soft bright smile.

He tries to stop himself, but he keeps tallying up the subtle differences: the shape of their faceplates, the hue of their eyes, the color of their plating. 

Mesothulas, still excited to hear Prowl's commentary on the experience of the positive reinforcement prison, leans in further, optics glowing eagerly. "So, Prowl. What can I give you to make you smile like that again?"

Prowl's optics flash bright. His mind races with answers - peace, security, peace with Tumbler- No. No one can give him what he wants. He closes his mouth, lips tightening against a mind scraped raw and inclined, for once, to honesty.

Dazed, he tries to stand and leave, but only succeeds in shaking at the brace keeping his head immobile and the cords connecting him to the positive reinforcement prison, reminding him that he's still connected to it.

He tenses up, but manages to choke out, "Release me." 

Seeing his shifting, Mesothulas moves to unbrace his head, but is interrupted by a panicked "No!" Prowl continues more calmly, choking down fear to say, "The - the prison first."

Mesothulas obliges, carefully disconnecting the main cable from Prowl's neck and holding it up to Prowl's face to reassure him that it's out. He continues, unbracing his head and disconnecting the monitors, while Prowl waits, tense.

As soon as he's let up, he rises to his feet, ignoring the slight shaking of his legs, and begins to don his radiation suit. "Destroy it."

Mesothulas, shocked out of his wariness, throws up his arms in indignation. "Destroy it? This is revolutionary! This prototype is limited, certainly, but it's a step into an incredibly important field! This concept could lead to personalized psychic attacks without the inconvenience of a mnemosurgeon!"

Prowl flinches. "Destroy it," he repeats icily. He stares coldly into Mesothulas's eyes until he backs down. "And the next time I order you to do something? Remember whose laboratory this is."

Mesothulas glares, but nods. Under Prowl's stern gaze, he begins to dismantle the prison. 

Prowl nods, satisfied, and turns to leave the room. He walks through the labyrinthine corridors of the laboratory, back straight but fingers trembling. 

He's almost out of the maze when his mind pulls up an image, old this time, of Tumbler's smiling face. 

Shaking, he clenches his hand into a fist. He hits the wall, trying still to ignore his thoughts of a world where - _he loved you enough_ \- he and Tumbler are happy together. _The Autobots would have lost. Without you the Autobots would have lost already and you know it - no one else had the ruthlessness, the strength of will, to do what needed to be done._ He puts his head in his hands, thinking of everything that's been sacrificed for his cause. Lives. Futures. His own happiness. 

He straightens. "This is what's right," he whispers to himself. "This is what's right." 


End file.
